“I’m not falling for that.” She looks anyway then says, “I don’t give a rat’s patootie about her. She was a snob then and I’m sure she’s a snob now. I don’t know why Veronica has such a lady boner for her anyhow.” Zelda sneaks another look at Beth Ellen. “I detect a muffin top.”
“A muffin what?”
“You really do need me as your trainer. A muffin top is that roll of fat around your middle that pooches out over the top of your panties.”
I sneak a look at Beth Ellen, but don’t see a thing. The top of her panties look fine to me. “I don’t see anything, Zelda. No muffins or donuts or rolls or anything. Why do they name fatty deposits after pastries anyway? Oh wait, that was a stupid question. It’s because the pastries cause the fat, right? Like a beer belly is caused by beer.” I pause for a breath then say, “That must mean I have a Yoo-hoo tummy.”
Zelda ignores my rambling and says, “Of course you don’t see her muffin top. She’s wearing Spanx.”
“Sphinx?”
“Spanx. They’re tight girdles that hold in all your jiggly parts. That’s how I know she has muffin tops.”
“So the absence of a muffin top tells you she has a muffin top?” I really am not following this line of reasoning. Besides, I don’t know what the big deal about a muffin top is. I like muffins. I like jiggly parts. I’m not really into hard-bodied women.
“Call the towing company before we forget,” Zelda says.
“Which one?”
“Never mind.” She digs her cell phone out of her bra.
“Let me guess, you’ve got a cousin with a towing company.”
I see Veronica move out of the shadows and sidle up to Beth Ellen Warren. She’s pulling Gloria by the hand behind her. I wonder if Veronica has informed Gloria that she is serving as bait for the real prize. A narcissist like Beth Ellen wouldn’t be happy with just hooking up with Veronica, she has to steal her away from another woman.
“No, he’s my brother-in-law’s best friend,” Zelda says.
“Who?”
“The towing company guy.”
“Oh.” I watch as Beth Ellen checks out Gloria, crosses her off as chump change, and circles Veronica like she’s an expensive piece of furniture that she’s contemplating purchasing.
Zelda pulls on my elbow. “I want to show you off then you can go rescue Gloria. You know she has really nice calves.”
“Who?”
“Gloria, you nitwit.”
“Do you rate everyone by muscle group?”
“Of course, doesn’t everybody? Let’s go hook up with my posse.”
Zelda’s posse is very competitive. I remember them from high school. They were the jocks. They made nationals every year despite having to deal with the nuns who were always trying to brainwash them into believing “winning isn’t everything” and “pride cometh before a fall.” The jocks ignored them on both counts. Not all of the jocks look as athletic as they once did, but compared to a lot of other women in the room they look great.
After my introduction and once-over by the posse, I am free to go. The reminiscing is in full swing—none of which includes me, who wasn’t athletic and never would be. In gym class I’d always been picked second to last. Mindy Farenelli, who was gangly and blind in one eye, was always last pick.
I stand at the edge of the dance floor and toe tap some more, looking around for a familiar face. I hope Mindy Farenelli got a good paying job and had LASIK. Maybe she is wearing Spanx and looks great.
Gloria catches my eye and waves at me. I weave my way through the crowd until I’m standing next to her. I breathe in deeply. God, she smells fantastic.
“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”
Gloria smiles up at me. “I’m not wearing any perfume.” She sniffs her arm. “Oh, you must be smelling my new soap. I bought a case of it from Zelda. She gave me a big discount because she was going out of business.”
Uh-oh. I hope it’s not that soap. “Did you read the label? Did you see the ingredients?”
“No. Why?”
“Never mind.”
“Are you having a good time?” Gloria asks.
“Not really. How about you?”
“Not really. I don’t know how much longer I can stand the one-upwomanship.”
I grab Gloria’s hand and lead her away from Veronica and the all-star narcissists who are orbiting her like she’s the sun. We’re about halfway to a table when a woman steps in front of me and says, “Hi, Jamie.”
It takes me a moment to recognize her. Terri Barton. Well, actually I don’t recognize her so much as I read her name tag. “Hi, Terri. You look great.”
“Do you know where Veronica is?” she asks.
That’s when I remember that Terri had a big crush on Veronica back in the day. Veronica was cruel to Terri. Terri looks better now—lost about twenty pounds and her acne cleared up—but she still isn’t in Veronica’s league. I can’t believe Terri’s still lusting after her.
“Yeah,” I answer her. “Veronica’s right over there.”
Terri beelines straight for her. Oh well, it’s her funeral. What’s that old saying, the more things change the more they stay the same?
We get to an empty table without any further interruptions. The plastic tablecloth features a pig motif. These pigs are wearing halos and have wings. The centerpiece is a pig candle that sheds a pink glow over the table. I pull out Gloria’s chair for her to sit.
“Griffin would be proud of your manners,” Gloria says. “He was the most well-mannered boy in the whole second grade.”
“Thank you. I taught him everything he knows. I even taught him how to pee standing up.”
Gloria raises an eyebrow as I sit next to her.
“Not that I pee standing up, mind you. My sister Juniper went into a panic when Griffin was about to go to kindergarten and still peed sitting down. She was afraid the other boys would make fun of him. So I tossed a few cheerios in the toilet bowl and he found out how much fun it was to sink them.”
“What about his father?”
“I’ve never met him.”
“Is he a deadbeat dad?”
“I don’t think he’s dead. I’m joking, but he is an absentee dad. I’m not so sure that Juniper didn’t make him up.”
“So he’s never around?”
“He’s always working and out of town a lot. Griffin seems okay with it, but he’s got his grandfather. I’m pretty sure he gets enough exposure to manliness.”
“That’s good.”
I notice she discreetly slips off her heels and flexes her toes. “I don’t know why women wear those things.”
“Veronica loaned them to me. She didn’t like the flats I was wearing.”
“That sounds like her all right.”
“I guess you’re wondering why I came here as Veronica’s date?” Gloria asks.
“It had crossed my mind.” It had done more than that. I couldn’t think of anything else since I’d found out. I kept picturing the two of them kissing, getting married, buying a house, having kids, picking out cemetery plots next to each other. My imagination was driving me insane.
“Because Veronica told me you were coming,” Gloria says. She may have been blushing but it was hard to tell with the pink glow from the pig-shaped candle.
“I wasn’t going to come. If I had been going I would’ve asked you, but then I got shoved into it and then Zelda asked me and I went with her since I was shoved into going anyhow by everyone on the planet so I went with Zelda just to piss off Veronica.” The part I leave out is that Zelda wouldn’t expect me to sleep with her at the end of the night like Veronica would.
“Take a breath, Jamie. I figured that much out. Veronica told me all about it. She wanted help getting Beth Ellen Warren. I knew that Veronica wouldn’t leave you alone until she found another girlfriend. How could we date with Veronica as the perpetual third wheel?”
This time it was me who blushed. I hope the pig light covers it up. “S
o, Veronica told you all that?”
“Just the part about being bait in her trap. The rest I deduced on my own.”
“So did she tell you everything about me and her?” I’d kill Veronica if she’d told Gloria about my sex lapses.
“No, just that she needed Beth Ellen to get over you. It’s a win-win, don’t you think?” Gloria smiles so sweetly I want to scoop her up and kiss her all over.
“Yes, definitely a win-win.”
“Want to dance?” Gloria asks.
“Uh, I’m not much of a dancer. The only thing I know how to do is the foxtrot. The nuns made us learn that.”
“Then we’ll foxtrot.”
I can’t argue with that. Besides I’m not sure I want to.
Gloria stands and takes my hand.
“You won’t be embarrassed?” I ask.
“I don’t embarrass easily,” she says.
The music stops and the D.J., whose name is D.J. (I’m not kidding. She was in my graduating class. Her name is Donna Jean and she goes by D.J.), announces the next song: “This goes out to all the girls filled to the brim with piety and ready to break loose. So let’s do it,” she says, turning up the volume on Marvin Gaye’s song Sexual Healing.
“Interesting choice,” I say, taking Gloria in my arms.
“Would you like to lead since you’re wearing the pants?” Gloria asks.
“No,” I reply. “I’d rather lead when I’m not wearing pants.”
Gloria laughs. “That’s a deal.”
Omigod, we’re flirting! How fabulous is that? Turns out that my flirting skills are a lot better than my foxtrotting skills. I end up doing more of a herky-jerky box step. I’m saved from my own clumsiness when the music screeches to a stop.
I turn to the stage and see a dark shape hovering over D.J.’s record player. It’s Sister Polly Esther. She obviously has some serious reservations about Marvin Gaye. D.J. and Sister Polly Esther play a game: D.J. puts the arm back onto the record. Sister Polly Esther jerks the arm off the record. On. Off. On. Off. This causes the dancers to dance to the music then freeze. Dance. Freeze. Dance. Fr. . . Well, you get the drift. We look like we’re dancing to a strobe light without the strobe.
And I’m getting motion sickness from all the herky-jerky.
D.J. decides she’s had enough crap. She actually yells, “I’ve had enough of this crap!” and she hurls herself at Sister Polly Esther. D.J. isn’t what you’d call a small woman, but Sister Polly Esther is even bigger. They roll around on the stage floor, pulling, biting, scratching.
Zelda leaps on the stage and I think, “Thank God somebody’s going to put an end to this.” But Zelda only puts the arm back down on the record and Sexual Healing underscores the fighting nun and D.J.
After ten more seconds of scuffling, D.J. gets Sister Polly Esther in a full nelson and leads her around the stage, scrubbing her head with her knuckles and saying, “Anybody else? Anybody else wanna mess with me?”
I look over at Gloria and see that she’s laughing. I love the way her eyes crinkle up when she laughs. Just looking at her gives me hot little pinpricks in my woo-hoo.
I’m not kidding.
I definitely am having hot jabs right in my you-know-what.
I shake my hips a little, hoping the jabs will go away.
They don’t.
I shake a little more.
The jabs turn to stabs.
Very, very painful stabs.
I start moving, my hips have a mind of their own, moving like I’m hula-hooping and these noises are coming out of my throat that sound like, “Ooh, ooh, ooh!”
Gloria looks at me wide-eyed and asks, “What dance is this? That’s not a foxtrot.”
I lift one foot then the other, like I’m stamping on cockroaches. I run in a circle, fanning my crotch, then head to the ladies’ room. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but my crotch is on fire.
I crash into the nearest stall and whip down my pants. There right next to my girlie parts are a bunch of evil safety pins. They came unfastened and were jabbing my tender parts. Had I stayed on the dance floor a minute longer I would’ve had a home piercing job.
There’s a light rapping on the stall door. “Jamie? Are you all right in there?” Gloria asks. “Did you have an accident in your pants?”
Leave it to a second grade teacher to think I’d messed my pants. “No, I didn’t have an accident. I got stuck with a bunch of safety pins in my. . . lady parts.” I beat Gloria to the next question by answering, “It was a home tailoring job because my pants were too loose.”
“Oh, I see,” Gloria said. “Well, why don’t you hand them over the stall door and I’ll get rid of the pins. You can. . . examine your lady parts and tell me if you need a doctor.”
“All right.” I hand her the pants and sit on the toilet. A quick look down my undies reveals that even though my woo-hoo was used as a pin cushion it doesn’t look any worse for wear. “I’m pretty sure I’m all right.”
“Good.”
I stand and lean my forehead against the stall door. “Look, I’m really sorry about embarrassing you out there.”
“No worries,” Gloria says. “It’s not my reunion.”
I hear a buzzing noise then Gloria squeaks, “Ack!”
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I hear Gloria laugh. “It’s just your phone in your pants pocket. It was on vibrate and it made your pants jump on the counter. Scared me for a second, that’s all.”
Her hand appears over the stall door holding my phone. I take it from her, wondering who could be calling me at this time on a Friday night. I look at the caller ID. It’s my mother.
“What’s up, Ma?” I answer.
“You’ve got to come to the hospital right now. It’s Zio Tonino,” Ma says then clicks off.
It’s just like my mother. Family in the hospital did not require a telephone conversation. It’s a Bravo Family Alert. And it means you are expected to drop everything and come running.
I quickly step out of the stall. “That was my mother. I have to go to the hospital right now.”
“Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry. I’ve got a couple more pins and your pants will be safe again,” Gloria says.
Only then did I realize I am standing in the middle of the ladies room in my underwear. Gloria has the good grace not to say anything. She holds up my pants just in time for Veronica to walk in.
“Well, well, well,” Veronica says, smiling lasciviously. “If it isn’t in flagrante delicto.”
“You know I don’t speak Spanish,” I say.
“I was helping her with her pants,” Gloria says.
“Yes, I can see that.”
Beth Ellen Warren comes in next, saying, “Did you find her?” She stops and takes in the scene. “Maybe I underestimated the charms of teachers.”
I grab my pants from Gloria and step into them. “What do you want with Gloria anyway?”
“Beth Ellen and I are going for drinks. I want you to take Gloria home. The Lamborghini only has two seats.”
“I’d love to,” I say, zipping up.
“I bet,” Veronica says.
I take Gloria by the hand and force her to run with me past Veronica and Beth Ellen, out of the ladies room, and toward the exit.
“Why are we running?” Gloria asks once we’re outside.
“We need to get out of here before Veronica realizes her car has been towed.” I stop and scan the parking lot. “Now which white limo is ours?”
Sixteen
Leroy is pretty easy to find in the sea of white limos and white chauffeurs. He doesn’t even balk when I ask him to drive Gloria home. I think Zelda wasn’t kidding when she told me he likes white girls.
Leroy and his limo idle at the curb while I walk Gloria to her front door. I feel like a teenager again as I fumble with whether or not to kiss Gloria good night. Thankfully, she makes the decision for me. When her lips meet mine, I feel a wave of dizziness. Like I’m drowning in the softness of
her lips. I’m no poet, but kissing Gloria is better than chocolate or cake or chocolate cake or. . .
My phone buzzes and interrupts our kiss. I pull it out of my pocket and check the caller ID. “It’s my mother again.”
“Better talk to her.” Gloria steps back and unlocks her front door.
“Hi, Ma. I’m almost. . .”
“WHERE ARE YOU?” Ma screams into the phone.
“I’m on my way. I had to drop Gloria off because her date…”
But she’d already clicked off. In a family crisis my mother brooks no excuses.
“You better go,” Gloria says. She leans in and kisses my cheek. “But I want a rain check.”
“Me, too,” I say, staring at Gloria’s soft, full lips, the curve of her neck, the way her dress cups her. . .
“Go,” Gloria says, opening her door and stepping inside. She throws me a kiss before shutting the door between us.
As I walk back to the limo, I wonder if Gloria and I are destined to forever be star-crossed lovers. It seems like every time we get close there’s a mother or an ex there to separate us.
I climb in the limo and shut the door. “Leroy, I need to go get my car before you go back and pick up Zelda. That okay?”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
*
The Lakeland City Hospital parking lot is only half full. Or, depending on how you look at it, it’s half empty. Either way it’s a good sign for a Friday night. Usually the emergency room on a weekend is guaranteed medical bedlam.
I park Silver in the back forty so she won’t get scratched by frantic people parking willy-nilly in an effort to get their loved ones medical attention.
Ma is waiting for me at the front doors. I swear she has a lo-jack hidden on me. She always seems to know when I’m coming. She clutches my arm and whispers, “It’s bad.”
“What happened? Was it a stroke? Is he going to die?”
“I hope not,” Ma says.
She leads me down a sterile hallway that smells like Lysol and medicine combined. You’d think if modern science can figure out how to do a heart transplant then they could make medicine that doesn’t smell so medicine-y.
Till Beth Do Us Part (A Jamie Bravo Mystery Book 2) Page 9